


a little less from eden and a little more jackie and wilson

by Dandybear



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Bajorans have tails, Dax just wants her boyfriend and her girlfriend to date, F/F, F/M, Gratuitous Hozier Lyrics, Holodeck Sex, I crack shipped it and now I ship it for real a four part miniseries starring me, I will never apologize for writing about aliens trying to bone, Polyamory Negotiations, Thanks Double Dicked Klingons Star Trek Discovery, There is no other Kira/Worf on the internet, This sounds hornier than it is, Threesome - F/F/M, Trill are hermaphroditic, fake married, hot springs episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 10:29:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19789018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandybear/pseuds/Dandybear
Summary: “So, you could, hypothetically, engineer a situation for Worf to anger Kira and get your desired result,” Julian pours himself another glass from the swirled bottle, then offers her more. Dax bites her lip, then nods, “I could, but that would be manipulative and awful of me.”Julian does the raised eyebrow, stretched lip face, which usually means ‘yes, it would, but you don’t have to rule it out’. And, that’s part of why she’s here and not drinking with Benjamin. Benjamin is the friend she goes to when she wants the right answer to something. Julian is helpful for morally dubious plotting, schemes, and shenanigans.Setting up her girlfriend with her boyfriend because she’s convinced that their relationships would benefit from it falls under one of those categories.or, Dax wants to start a Throuple and uses vacation time to negotiate it with her two favourite wrinkle-nosed grumps.





	a little less from eden and a little more jackie and wilson

**Author's Note:**

> Star Trek canon? I don't know her.
> 
> Welcome to "that's dumb so we're not doing that" rules fanfic where not every person is an expert on their race and more than one culture/language exists!
> 
> I was gonna do this whole bit about myself wearing 90's shoulder pads and having early video editing effects around me, but I'm mostly just tired. I had to summon it into existence, so here I am, writing more fic that falls under 'existential xenophilia'.
> 
> A lot of this was written when I was tired, some was written while I was drunk, and none of it has been beta'd.
> 
> The title is of course, both a reference to Elvis and Hozier. It's because I swung back and forth between From Eden and Jackie and Wilson when writing this fic. It boils down to From Eden being from Dax's perspective, and Jackie and Wilson being from the Kira/Worf perspective.

"Have you ever yelled at Worf?"

There's a chirp from the flotation device next to her. Jadzia hides her laugh with her arm, because Kira is perched precariously and staring at the depths with intense eyes. 

Turns out the element of the unseen is what stimulates the imagination. Schools of multicoloured fish swim just below the surface, bumping Jadzia, mistaking her for one of their own with her cool skin and shimmering scales. Below that? Well, the floor eventually. The illusion of depths. Of the oceans of her home planet. The kind of place she’d like to take Kira some day, on a real vacation. Not a life harrowing adventure, though a lot of what they do ends up like that anyway. She can fantasize, about staying in one of the float homes and watching the ocean light up with glowing algae at night.

She's so focused on that, she tunes out the series of chitters, beeps, and chirps until a hand reaches down and turns her universal translator back on. 

"Hey!" Jadzia huffs, "I’m never gonna learn the language if you keep tapping me out."

"Oh, yeah? What did I just say?"

Caught. Jadzia tucks her lips into the corners of her mouth. Kira tips her head, “I was asking why would I yell at Worf.”

Jadzia aims a charming smile at her, “Well, he kind of swooped in and started changing everything on the station. And, you like things done a certain way.”

(It’s a verbal sidestep, but Jadzia’s communication tends to be a series of dance moves, lackadaisical and meandering, so she doesn’t ping Kira’s suspicions.)

Kira scoffs, “Such a diplomatic way to call me  _ difficult,  _ Dax.”

“I prefer the word ‘tough’,” Jadzia drags herself up onto the floaty raft. It squeaks and dips lower with her added weight. 

And such linguistic distinctions is part of why she’s working on her proficiency with the Dahkurdit language. 

“The Lieutenant Commander did cause a bit of a stir when he first got here. Challenging everything left and right, but he’s never been anything but professional and courteous to me, and well ...” Kira trails off, unable to hide a smirk.

“What is that?” Jadzia tips into her, pleased with this development.

“I couldn’t be mean to him if I tried, he’s so soft looking! It’d be like yelling at a--” and the translator lags for a moment, trying to find the appropriate metaphor, “ _ big eyed calf _ ,” it settles on.

Jadzia snorts, before completely losing it.

“You think he looks like a baby cow?” she sputters.

Kira grimaces, “I’m sure he’s plenty intimidating on the battlefield, but he just,” she puffs herself up, imitating Worf’s posture, “walks super loud not to sneak up on people and gets so pleased when he gets his replicator juice.” She makes a noise, “It sounds like I’m insulting him, but I like that about him! His face is hard, but his belly is soft.”

(And, this is part of why Jadzia asked, because she’s not blind, especially not to matters of pheromones and the heart. She’s seen Kira bat her lashes and swish her tail before. Kira  _ likes  _ Worf. And, Kira’s exactly the kind of woman Worf would like too, if he just removed his nose from the grindstone and put it somewhere much more pleasant. But, Jadzia knows how difficult it can be to get him to do that.)

Wheels turning in her head, Jadzia continues the conversation, “So, you think you could beat him in a fight?” 

She uses a finger to trace a water drop down Kira’s shoulder.

“I’ve spent my life fighting, I don’t need to do any more.” Kira’s arm flops back, splashing the water.

“Kira, you’ve been in no less than three fights today.”

“I picked those battles carefully.”

“You picked all of the battles.”

“Carefully!” Kira tips her head, teeth bared playfully, tip of her tail tracing a line down Jadzia’s calf.

Her breath catches and she checks the time on the holodeck. Half an hour left and the clouds above have gone from scattered to grey and overcast. 

“It’s gonna rain,” Jadzia pulls Kira in for a kiss, pressing herself between her lover’s legs.

“It’s not real rain,” Kira says.

Jadzia spots the opportunity, “Oh, so something else will be getting you wet?”

Kira rolls her eyes, “Your mouth is cold,” she changes the subject.

“So warm me up,” Jadzia says against her lips.

Kira’s smile against her mouth is sharp.

Sharp teeth and a wicked tongue trace Jadzia’s spots, and Jadzia’s hands make short work of Kira’s bathing costume. And, yes, it is difficult to do on a floatation device. And, yes, they do dissolve into a fit of giggles when the simulation ends and they’re dropped to the floor.

Then they’re wrapped in towels, marching proudly instead of walking in shame, out back into Quark’s.

“Have fun girls?” Quark asks them with the face of someone who knows entirely too much.

“The rag you’re using is Odo,” Jadzia says.

Quark sputters and drops it, watching intently for it to transform back into a man-shaped blob. Nothing.

“Or, maybe not,” Jadzia smirks.

Her hand makes its way to the back of Kira’s waist as they head back to her quarters.

“I’m going to keep giving you good memories of the Holodeck until you love it,” Jadzia says.

“It’s not that,” Kira’s hair is fluffed up from the towel and it is adorable, “I just need to remind myself of what is and isn’t real because… fantasy is something I can’t put my faith in. If it all looks so real, what’s to stop me from getting confused between reality and make believe.”

Jadzia drops her bathing suit, digging out some fresh undergarments and taking her time on it because she can feel Kira’s gaze hot on her bare body.

“Well, make believe tends to be a lot sillier,” Jadzia offers.

It’s Tobin who supplies support to Kira’s paranoia (Tobin’s thoughts are mild and sour on the tongue, like a tonic she just can’t quite place),  _ but what if it weren’t? What if you were in a holodeck so real you couldn’t tell?  _ Which, is something Jadzia herself has considered, but always just as a little weight at the back of her mind, never a full on fear.

“I guess I can just never let myself relax,” Kira says.

And, it’s true, Jadzia’s never woken up before Kira, always a few minutes after, as if her bedmate’s risen based on her own stirring. The kind of hypersensitivity that comes with war, she figures. She’d say it’s Audrid’s influence that makes her worry about Kira getting enough rest, but every facet of her worries about Kira. Down to the most primal desires of the worm.

So, Jadzia grabs a towel and strides over to Kira, still undressed and uses it to aid in the drying process, and to bring their mostly-naked bodies together. She smiles down, and grabs Kira’s chin to tip her head upwards into a kiss, “That’s why you have me.”

* * *

“So, you could, hypothetically, engineer a situation for Worf to anger Kira and get your desired result,” Julian pours himself another glass from the swirled bottle, then offers her more. Dax bites her lip, then nods, “I could, but that would be manipulative and awful of me.”

Julian does the raised eyebrow, stretched lip face, which usually means ‘ _ yes, it would, but you don’t have to rule it out’ _ . And, that’s part of why she’s here and not drinking with Benjamin. Benjamin is the friend she goes to when she wants the right answer to something. Julian is helpful for morally dubious plotting, schemes, and shenanigans.

Setting up her girlfriend with her boyfriend because she’s convinced that their relationships would benefit from it falls under one of those categories. 

Benjamin also probably doesn’t want to know about the shared sex lives of three of his senior officers, no matter how close she and he have been for the past two lives. Curzon would get into the details, Jadzia’s fond of a well-placed remark and an expression that says it all.

“You could… dare both of them to see who can shout louder?” Julian offers.

Jadzia laughs, “You know, they’re both pretty competitive so that might work. I was just going to suggest they start sparring. Worf gets so growly and,” she takes a moment to fan herself for emphasis, “ _ sexy _ when he’s in combat.”

“You certainly have a type, Jadzia Dax,” Julian says.

Jadzia clutches her chest, the very picture of deep offense, “I’ll have you know, I am open to all types! I have dated an Orion accountant, I was in a long distance relationship with a hive mind, I once even held hands with a Vulcan,” she leans forward to whisper that last one. As if it would tarnish her reputation to do such harlotry with the Federation’s most boring people.

Julian spares a sidelong glance, keeping it as he gets up to change the music to something with a stronger beat.

“Were they also serious warrior types with auburn hair?”

“All of my children are going to have ridged noses,” she groans, rubbing her temples.

(Not that she’s opposed to the idea, nor entertaining the fantasy of being on Jadzia’s deathbed and surrounded by spotted Bajoran, and Klingon hybrids. No, if anything, evolving her own species through sex is the most honorable((and fun)) scientific endeavour she can think of.)

“There are worse things. All of my children are going to have crippling insecurity that they’ll never be as handsome as their father.” Julian says.

Jadzia chokes on her drink.

* * *

Jadzia supposes she owes thank you letters to Gul Dukat and the cosmic forces of chaos aligning to aid her in her quest. (She doesn’t know what the cosmic forces of chaos look like, so she leaves an offering in the shrine on the promenade and hopes that’s enough.) (Also, she’s never going to thank Gul Dukat for anything in her life, ever.)

From retellings, she can glean what happened being as follows: Dukat visited Kira, Kira reacted appropriately, Worf walked in just in time to dodge a PADD being used as a projectile weapon.

“I think it would be best if you left,” he had said to the stunned Gul.

But, the work was done, because Worf had seen Kira, face curled into a snarl, eyes hard and bright and ready to lunge at that smug lizard.

“Is… the colonel interested in Dukat?” Worf asks, bumping shoulders with her as they enter the elevator.

Jadzia scoffs, “She hates his guts.”

“Ah, yes, I wasn’t sure if the cultures aligned with Klingons in terms of… mating rituals,” he drops his voice, embarrassed.

“No. I find that when Kira likes someone, she’s nice to them and asks them questions about themselves. Like me with my past lives.”

Something about what Worf just said sticks at the front of her mind.

“Did that get you into trouble back when you started your career with Starfleet? Women yelling and throwing things at you?” Jadzia asks, intrigued.

“I adapted quickly. From what I’ve heard, such crossed signals are common and frequent in the Federation.”

“But, I bet you gave the poetry a try anyway,” she teases.

Worf tucks his head down, letting his silence fill in the gaps. They emerge into Ops to see Kira, still bright and brilliant in her post-rage. Her tail is twitching in irritation and her spine is a hard line. Jadzia squeezes her shoulder onto her way to her post and sees the whites of Kira’s eyes shrink. Nothing feels more powerful than soothing with a single touch.

“You alright?” Jadzia asks.

“I’m fine,” Kira sighs through her nose. She steps past Jadzia to grip Worf’s bicep.

“I’m sorry for almost hitting you in the head with a PADD.”

Worf’s expression doesn’t change, “You didn’t. And, were it not for Federation laws and your own personal stake in revenge, I would have offered you his head.”

Kira laughs and it’s music to Jadzia’s ears.

* * *

“This is what I’m talking about. The holodeck can never imitate all of this,” Kira says.

And, she’s right of course. There’s sky overhead and ground underfoot in a way that being in space makes you forget until you don’t. There’s an up and a down and no artificial gravity to flip-flop on which is which.

Shore leave. Saved up from all the time spent on Deep Space 9 instead of pursuing lives elsewhere. More than enough time banked to spend a few days planetside enjoying a flower festival that Kira insists she  _ must see _ . That vacation she wanted to take.

“Yeah, but we can’t fight an army of Klingons out here,” Jadzia says.

“You could, if there were enough Klingons and the slightest motivation,” Worf says.

He’s in airy civilian clothes and has his hair in braids, looking Spring refreshing like Kira in her tunic.

For the record, Jadzia is the third wheel her. She found them talking about festivals over coffee and had to insert herself into the conversation.

(“Oh, Jadzia! We were just comparing cultures. Worf’s homeland has a festival called  _ Gu’kanne Vysany _ . They sing from the hills to invite the return of Spring! It’s very similar to our own Equinox Festival.”

Kira’s smile is brilliant and delighted. Jadzia’s eyes skim over it to see Worf’s gaze is lingering on the skin of Kira’s neck. He looks away guiltily when she catches him. Interesting. She might not even have to do much more than nudge them.

“The festival’s in a few weeks and I was going to show it to Worf, since he mentioned feeling homesick for  _ Minsukh, _ ” Kira says.

“Is that so?” Jadzia dips her head at Worf, brows raised and the start of a grin. He doesn’t yield. 

“Yes. Would you care to join us?”

“I think Benjamin can spare three senior officers for a long weekend,” she says.)

She has no intention of wasting this opportunity, or a chance to relax outside of recycled starship air. 

Flowers, good company, and distant music, what could be better than this?

And the voices in her head and body rush to offer suggestions, but none are better than Kira tangling their fingers together. She’s lived moments like this before. It’s the inertia of Nilani’s hand on Torias’s waist just as the sky sparks start to explode, it’s Lela’s feet slipping on soft moss as she lets them carry her downhill, it’s her daughter’s first laugh, and her son’s first word. It’s the quiet high moments that get imprinted onto Dax like strings of code. One day, another Dax, another Trill, will feel a lurch in their heart and remember the warmth of a hand, and the slant of Kira’s smile just right.

“Before the occupation, festivities included decorating whole cities with fresh flowers, and floats made of coloured paper,” Kira says.

Jadzia squints at the signs and banners, recognizing the letters and sounds but not the words that they make. She’s taking the trip to practice her Dahkurdit, she has no excuse not to.

A pack of children is following them and pretending that they aren’t.

“We don’t get a lot of aliens out here,” Kira explains, “Well, besides the Cardassians.”

Which usually means open hostility from the older locals.

“I’m used to being the subject of whispers,” Worf says. It hurts Jadzia’s heart. Worf, shared in custody between Starfleet and the Klingon Empire. Always like a needle moving back and forth on a radio, never quite finding the right station.

The children grab at her sleeves and point to her spots and Audrid’s smile pulls at Jadzia’s lips. (Audrid’s thoughts taste earthy and herbal, like the leaves she’d chew from her garden.)

So, Jadzia shows them magic tricks and Worf lets them use him as a climbing tree. One little girl asks where his tail is and Jadzia buries a giggle, because he takes the question very seriously and explains that Klingons don’t have tails. He does let her inspect his forehead ridges. The little girl uses her finger to trace the lines, face open in her wonder. She repeats the motion on her own forehead, and insists on holding his hand.

Jadzia grins at him, “Looks like you have an admirer.”

Worf can’t hide his own delight.

“What’s this?” Jadzia asks a little boy, pulling a coin out from behind his ear. She lets him keep it, practicing her slight of hand on the rest of the pack.

But, a universal truth of children is that they get bored and find something else more exciting. Then she’s left with no audience and no company. Kira having disappeared into a crowd of veterans and Worf being led away by the little girl. Historically, a bored Dax is a dangerous situation to be in. Seven lifetimes is a lot of fuckups stacked with boredom as a common factor.

Anyway, what’s a little exploring going to hurt?

* * *

“No! No! No! Like this!” Nyla stomps her little foot.

Worf is bent over, trying to keep hold on her hands and follow her steps. It’s the best kind of way to look foolish, he hopes. The harmless way. They girl’s mother, Sirine, has an eye on them. He introduced himself, he’s displaying no aggressive behaviour, but his senses are attuned to the slightest change in atmosphere. A crowd’s opinion can change on a dime, and then he might be fighting for his life.

His companions have eluded his eyesight, this is even more foolish. A landing party must always be in safe distance within each other, or at the very least in regular radio contact.

(No, he can’t ‘turn it off’ ever. He’s a Klingon Outcast. He’ll know peace the day his body finally gives out.)

“Hey Nyla, your mom wants to see you,” Kira’s voice cuts in.

Her lips are curled in a warm smile, dark eyes darting to Worf, “May I cut in?”

Nyla scowls at Kira, then at Worf, before stomping off to see her mother.

“Thank you, Colonel,” Worf says, straightening his back.

“Not so fast, Nyla won’t forgive me if I let you leave without learning the Ru’jaka.”

They can feel the eyes of curious villagers as she leads him to an empty patch of the dance area. Worf shifts his posture, going from heavy and lumbering to light, agile, and offers a hand out to Kira.

“You know, you can call me Kira at least when we’re off duty,” she says.

“Thank you for permission to do so,” he says.

She takes his hand, leading and following, “No, you need to kick your leg a little lower, like this,” she demonstrates.

“Thank you Kira.”

Something about the way he says it, he’s genuine and adjusts his stance accordingly. It affects her, like a warm drink trickling down the throat. His hand touches the back of her shoulder, the perfectly appropriate spot, not too familiar or too cold. Just enough support for the lift, and her forehead touches his chest.

“Sorry,” he gets his feet mixed up, almost hitting hers. She laughs, spinning them and separating them in the same move. They clap, he’s on beat, which makes him better at this than Bareil ever was.

They fall into step with the other dancers, she’s never been good enough for the fancy flourishes of the couple to their left, but they stay in time.

“Thank you for your demonstration,” he says gruffly.

“Did you dance a lot back on your homeworld?” she asks, still curious about the stoic man in front of her. 

“I did. I took ballet as a boy, and when we first moved to Minsk, my grandparents taught me Belarusian folk dancing,” he explains, switching partners to follow the steps of the current dance.

It takes another round for them to get back to each other. They collide, as if magnetized, in the middle. This number is faster, involves more lifts and hops than the previous. Kira searches her memory for what they were talking about. 

“Do they dance on Qo’noS?” she asks.

“Klingons do not dance,” his face a deadly serious cipher, “They violently express themselves in a jovial fashion.”

“Yes, I’ve witnessed Jadzia and Kor’s demonstrations,” she laughs.

His hand slips lower on her waist for this dance and he corrects himself. Kira’s at an impasse, having enjoyed the warmth and weight of the hand where it was, but not wanting to betray that.

Kira wets her lips, “Show me?”

“Show you what?” he spins her.

“Show me some of your traditional  _ Be’allarussien _ dances,” she says.

Worf chuckles at the accent and the choppiness of Dahkurdit slipping through his translator.

“If that is what you wish,” he says.

She keeps his gaze and feels that same pull she’s felt since he told her,  _ “Nice hat.”  _ Effectively making her feel silly and frivolous. Not that he did anything to imply she was frivolous, no, now that she knows Worf better she knows he was complimenting her garb in earnest and that just made it worse. But, she’s always felt a desire to know him, to impress him. And, it’s not unlike how she felt about Dax at the beginning. But, Jadzia didn’t need to be coaxed out. Jadzia’s always been bursting into Kira’s life like a bomb through a wall. She saw Kira, stewing in her resentment of the Federation and asked her out for drinks. Jadzia excels at that, turning Kira just enough on her ear to shake the anger out.

And, speaking of--

“I’m surprised Dax hasn’t cut in yet, it would be so like her to surprise us with a mastery of the Ab’ul.”

Worf pauses, glancing around. His face doesn’t betray worry, but curiosity, “It is also like her to stumble across her own adventures when left alone.”

“Ha! I know right? Have you ever heard of the time she spent a day stuck in the walls? It started as a prank on Odo, but then Miles repaired the panel she was using the sneak in and out of--”

* * *

It is the genetic predisposition of the worm to turn any vacation into a medical emergency, she supposes.

Bored and left unattended, she did what any tourist would do. She went shopping. A good chance to brush up on her Dahkurdit, and an opportunity to find something romantic to give her sweethearts. It also gives her ample time think of her next move in  _ Operation: Bed For Three _ . (It’s not like this is her first, or even tenth threesome to negotiate, but Kira and Worf are so stiff and traditional that it might be the trickiest she’s had to do.) So, she goes to the kiosks and tries on some handmade bracelets. How was she supposed to know that, “ _ Spikey friend! [Animal skin]. [Some iteration of five] pretty on hand.”  _ Was going to cause a histamine reaction?

The bracelet has this wonderful fuzzy-spiky texture, and didn’t set off her sneezing reaction when she touched it. It’s only about ten minutes later when she’s wearing the damn thing and can’t stop scratching her face when she notices that breathing is getting difficult and her wrist has begun to swell. 

And, the worm, Dax, convulses in her pouch, though mentally thinking,  _ “Oh no, not again.” _

Previous unceremonious deaths light her brain up with images of Emony pausing to tie her shoe, not seeing the shadow of the loosened crane arm. It’s Tobin saying he can definitely hold his breath long enough, and Torias frowning as the emergency light goes on. It’s Joran struggling against arms wielding knives, and now, Jadzia, an allergic reaction.

Thankfully, she is rescued.

An adult male Klingon barreling through festivities with the war hero, Kira Nerys on his back, is the talk of the town. Alarming as well, the two of them snapping into action and stabbing the collapsed spotty-girl with weird pens until she starts breathing again.

“You flipped over a cart?” she laughs through her oxygen mask.

“The cart was in the way,” Worf says.

“The farmer was very understanding once he saw it was a matter of life and death,” Kira supplies.

“Wish I’d seen it,” Jadzia wheezes, “My heroes, coming to sweep me off my feet.”

“Don’t you even think of doing that again,” Kira says, eyes bright.

Worf buries his nose in the crown of her hair, too upset to speak.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t realize you made bracelets out of those giant moon arachnids,” she huffs.

“Different arachnid. Doesn’t matter. This is my fault, I was so focused on telling you what you can and can’t eat while you’re here that I forget to think of the other uses of the  _ [big spider] _ ,” Kira wipes her palms on her own thighs, a nervous action.

Jadzia pulls at her hands, pressing a palm to her cheek, then kissing it. She reaches for Worf’s as well, one hand on each cheek, both of them.

“Nerys, it’s fine. I’m fine,” Jadzia insists.

(Dax begs to differ. Jadzia’s own cold terror is sticking to her throat. But, if she panics then they’ll panic, so she plays it off.)

“Perhaps we should cut our vacation short,” Worf says, “Return to Deep Space Nine so Jadzia can recover under the watch of Dr. Bashir.”

His thumb strokes a path from her cheekbone to her temple.

“I don’t want to go back! Come on,  _ Nerys,  _ you promised me salt baths.”

The pouty look she makes works on both of them and she can tell they’re both warring with it and each other. They communicate through a series of raised eyebrows and pursed lips, before agreeing.

“Okay, but we’re taking it easy. No more outings until you have a clean bill of health.”

Which doesn’t change much, they’re already renting out a three-bedroom in the village. Three bedrooms because Dahkur is still a proper place and they want to give the illusion of being proper people.

(Fucking the propriety out of Kira has been one of the most fun exploits she’s had aboard Deep Space Nine, but she’d be lying if she saw herself as the turning point. Kira’s a resistance fighter. She’s used to quick rolls in the hay with whoever’s handy. No, it wasn’t the sex. It was the alien adjustments. She'd shared that she hadn't found herself attracted to Jadzia until she'd seen her at a Bajoran Vedek, which led to questions of Kira have a clergy kink that may or may not have been explored on the holosuite.)

Jadzia’s sulking, curled up in bed with a PADD while Kira assembles dinner and Worf tends to the fire.

“I’m cold,” she announces.

“It’ll warm up soon, these little stoves really get cooking,” Kira says, unphased.

Jadzia sighs, she could drop a hint and they’d pick it up and dust it off for her.

“Worf, feel how cold my hands are,” she says, mashing her palms against his face. He peels them off and massages the meat of her thumb, “You are feeling less clammy than before, you are recovering.”

“Kira can you come check my temperature?” she whines.

“I’m getting dinner!” Kira yells back from the rustic little kitchen.

Jadzia buries the comment about preferring to dine on what’s between their legs. Her breathing is still a little laboured, and no matter how much her mind wants to, she’s not sure she could get it up for the act anyway.

Kira brings a board covered in little rolls, ambiguous meats, and various sauces. The only thing Jadzia recognizes is hasperat, so she reaches for that first.

They all sit cross-legged on the bed while they eat, Jadzia wedges herself between them, surprised by her own appetite after the long day.

“That’s a good sign,” Kira says, she touches a hand to Jadzia’s cheek, “Your colour is returning.”

Jadzia grumbles, “It’d better be. I’m not wasting my vacation by getting sick.”

“We’ll go to the baths tomorrow, it should help you heal anyway,” Kira relents.

Once finished, Worf sets the empty plank aside with a sigh, “That reminds me of a question.”

Jadzia makes a questioning noise, having fully flopped so she’s stretched across their laps and playing with Kira’s fingers.

“How big does the symbiont get? Are there giant ones living under the surface of your planet?”

Kira squints at him.

“Well, now I’m wondering about it.”

Jadzia stares up at them from her spot trying to initiate cuddling. Of course Worf's going to ask conditions about Trill growth. 

"There’s an old Trill legend that the core of the planet itself is one ancient worm, who grants infinite knowledge if you can find it," Audrid takes over the storytelling, having shared this bedtime story with her children many nights. Jadzia gives up on sex and curls into herself, letting her own voice lull herself to sleep.

* * *

A painting of the Dahkur Salt Baths remains as a sobering reminder of the damage left to the countryside by Cardassian occupation. Where once there were towers of sun-kissed stone, now there are patches of rubble, blown out windows, tapestries left in shreds. The pools, however, remain immaculate. It's dark, cavelike, and humid, and it's reminding her of home. One hundred and fifty years of safety beneath stone and water. Dax is writhing in delight against Jadzia's abdomen and flooding her brain with nostalgic endorphins. 

Kira’s talking to the bath attendant and she keeps gesturing to them, tail twitching in agitation.

“What do you want to bet it’s a ‘no aliens’ rule?” Jadzia elbows Worf’s side.

“They would be wise to be cautious. Cardassia still has many spies,” he says.

Jadzia rolls her eyes at him because he can be such a paranoid killjoy.

Kira returns to them, looking sheepish, “They keep telling me that the baths are currently closed to tourists on observance of the holiday. I keep insisting you’re not tourists, you’re my personal guests.”

Jadzia breezes past Kira to say something she actually does know in Dahkurdit, “ _ I’m her wife,”  _ then she points to Worf,  _ “Our husband.”  _ Then to emphasize, she grabs both of them by the waist.

Kira’s eyes go wide and she looks between Jadzia and the attendant. The attendant scrutinizes their party, nose scrunched up. Her eyes keep darting to the side of Jadzia’s head, then she cranes her neck to look at Worf.

Kira seems to catch on and flushes. She speaks in quick bursts, little chirps and squeaks that even evade the translator. The attendant beeps back.

It catches up by the time they’re getting their bathing clothes.

_ “They haven’t been fitted for earrings yet. It’s hard to get custom Klingon jewelry, especially on a holiday. It’s our [post-marriage celebration]!” _

_ “Congratulations. Your husband has a very handsome nose.” _

Jadzia smiles and reaches out to stroke Worf’s nose, “It is very handsome.”

Okay, so maybe he does look like a baby cow when he’s happy.

“Well, we made it in,” Kira says, leading them into the dressing rooms.

Bajoran bathing costumes have an intricate amount of straps. Worf sighs as a second attendant clips him into a harness that is almost too small. 

"You two look great, very fashionable," Kira's mouth is taught from trying not to laugh. 

Dax strikes a pose. Worf covers his chest with his arms. Kira loses her composure, dissolving into a fit of giggles. 

The baths are effervescent and a deep cobalt. Kira leads them to a spot where they are surrounded by humidity fluffed Bajorans. There’s a group of, she assumes women, with big teeth and bright hair, who look more akin to Kira than anyone on the station. Jadzia can feel every pair of dark eyes in the room on the three of them and Tobin's social anxiety flares. But, she is a confident Dax. One who soaks up the attention, flashing a smile and a wink to their bathing companions. 

Kira and Worf haven’t noticed. They’re too busy geeking out about the temple.

"We have UV scans of the original paintings on the ceiling. In the second century, when the baths were first built, it wasn't for leisure, but for sacrifices. Archeologists had the whole thing closed for about five years in the seventies and it was a whole drawn out thing because the Vedeks got involved and said it was a dark chapter of history that should have been forgotten--"

"Fascinating, your Prophets do not ask for sacrifices of blood and flesh?"

"No, we give sacrifice in other ways. You can actually see some of the remaining paintings in the children's hall. Would you like me to show you?"

"If you’re offering," he says. 

Dax's eyebrows climb at this. Third wheeled again. 

"Are you coming, Jadzia?" Kira asks. 

Well, not quite forgotten. 

"You kids have fun, I'm getting as much soak time as I can," she groans, leaning back against a natural sandstone alcove. 

"Okay," Kira's voice drops to a husk and she darts forward to peck Jadzia's lips. 

Jadzia puckers up at Worf, who goes tense at the offer, eyes darting towards the other Bajorans. 

"Don't get lost," Jadzia saves face by saying through puckered lips. 

She watches them go. The suit has a tail hole through the back, so she's admiring Worf's ass cleavage. 

They make a good pair. A ridiculous pair, but a good one. Kira's tail is going crazy as she gesticulates towards the ceiling. 

Jadzia returns to the task at hand, which is sliding deeper into the water and recalling her primordial worm memories. Jadzia’s shoulder deep in the water when she notices a few Bajorans have migrated closer in interest. 

One woman points to Jadzia’s spots and says the Dahkurdit word for ‘tattoo’.

Jadzia stretches her neck out as an offering to touch, “ _ Spots! _ ” she says.

* * *

“Your countryman accepted you having a husband and a wife,” Worf says, keeping his eyes on the combed sand floors.

“Ah, yeah,” Kira smiles, “It’s not uncommon for those of a certain social status to take more than one mate. We call it [ _ harem _ ] and it means one provider, one or more spouses.”

“So Jadzia and I would be your kept lovers,” Worf says.

Kira flounders on that, “Well, not quite,” she sidesteps.

“Then explain it to me,” he says.

Kira huffs, wishing this were the lighter topic of cultural genocide rather than having to dig into Bajoran mating politics.

“You’d be yours, but you’d also be mine,” she says, “You’d have the earrings of the house Kira, as a way of joining us all together. As a family. You’re not--you wouldn’t be my concubines!”

She says it loud enough for a mother and her children to shoot them a dirty look as they walk by.

“And is there a hierarchy ranking first wife? First husband?” he stops to let an elderly couple walk by.

Kira makes a noncommittal noise, “That’s really up to the family dynamics.”

“Back home on Earth, plural marriages have been used to create a  _ harem  _ for rich men, or in pastoral areas to reduce having land split apart by too many sons.”

“Marrying brothers?” Kira wrinkles her nose up.

“Patrilineal problems call for patrilineal solutions,” Worf shrugs.

“And do Klingons have many husbands and wives?” Kira asks.

“I’m not an expert. We lived in an outer colony until my parents died. I think some of the bigger clans on Qo’noS might but, I’ve personally seen more divorcees than bonded trios.”

She glances up at him, “Yes, it is very Klingon of us,” he says.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were thinking it, loudly.”

“This is it, by the way,” Kira uses her tail to point above. The centuries and the shelling haven’t taken this one piece of a now-gone puzzle. Red paint clings to the ceiling like dust, turning purple where the blood enters the water. The Dahkurdi sacrifices are geometric in shape and style, just a series of blocks falling into a pool.

“It’s beautiful,” Worf says.

Kira sighs, resting her hand on his lower back. He tenses, then leans into the touch.

“What’s the Dahkurdit word for husband again?” he asks.

* * *

Jadzia practices the word on her tongue. She rolls the sounds around, feeling both excited and foolish to be chirping and bleating with the choppy syllables that Kira uses.

The leather skinned elder near her bursts out laughing, “You just told her that her toes are a fruit spread!”

(Which sounds like a sentence that Julian would be interested in learning.)

“Okay, give me the words for ‘eyes’ and ‘pretty’ again,” Jadzia says.

They all chant it and she repeats the words back at them.

“Having fun?” comes that growly voice Kira gets when she’s verklempt.

Jadzia twists on her toes and turns to face her lovers. In bold and precise Dahkurdit, she shouts--supported by her new teachers, “ _ Nerys, you have pretty eyes!” _

They cheer as she gets it right.

Kira covers her face and wags her tail.

* * *

The house they’re staying in has a rooftop terrace that’s perfect for two things: stargazing, and pipe smoking.

Jadzia’s got her glass pipe between her teeth and ignoring the legality of the substance in the bowl of it because she’s on vacation. She takes a few inhales before offering the glowing glass to Kira, who takes a puff before handing it back. (Jadzia has vetted all types of pipeweed to make sure she only ever has a kind that binds with Trill, Bajoran, and Klingon biology, which limits her strains, and also has very different effects on the three of them. Worf usually abstains because it gives him auditory hallucinations and hiccups.) They’re up here enjoying the temperate weather while Worf has some anti-social time downstairs. He brought a book--that he hasn’t touched--and a PADD that he’s loaded games onto and needs to recharge his social battery.

“Can I confide something in you?” Kira asks.

“Of course, Nerys,” Jadzia says.

“I think I’m… developing feelings for Worf,” Kira says, suddenly shy and ashamed.

Jadzia doesn’t sputter on her inhale, no, she does it slowly and methodically, schooling her features into indifference.

“Are you now?” she unfolds and refolds her legs, leaning back in the woven chair.

“I mean,” Kira’s voice dips, “I’ve always been attracted to him. He’s got such strong ridges and… hair,” she gestures with clawed fingers.

And, they can talk about this because they’ve always talked about sex and attraction, even before they were having sex. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jadzia says, “Just try sparring with him.”

Kira’s tail flicks, frisky, “Is he fun to pin?”

Jadzia smirks and bounces her brows, “Very.”

“You aren’t bothered by me developing feelings or attraction?” Kira asks, suddenly nervous.

Jadzia puts a hand on Kira’s thigh and rubs a circle there, keeping eye contact as she gets within breathing distance. Her exhales mingle with Kira’s, their noses brushing as she speaks, “Nerys, this was inevitable.”

"It's not… it's not that I love you any less or that you're not enough, I want you to know that," Kira's voice is a hush against her. 

Jadzia pulls away to frown, "Do I make you feel that way by having both of you?"

There's a hesitation before Kira's explanation, "No. No! Not anymore! If anything I'm glad you have two of us, I think I'd get worn out otherwise."

Jadzia tilts her head, that's fair. 

“I know I said I was okay with it before I was and I’m sorry,” Kira leans back in.

The kiss is more reassuring and less romantic, but Jadzia keeps a hand at Kira’s temple, anchoring her, 

“You are more than enough,” Jadzia says, making sure to keep eye contact.

Noise startles them. Chatter and laughter from the road below. Rowdy teenagers going from too loud to very quiet, then exploding into more laughter. Jadzia smiles, “That right there is a constant in every culture worth living in,” she points.

Kira’s face is frozen in a smile.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jadzia asks.

Kira nods and her smile falters, “During the occupation we learned early on that noise would get you killed. There was a boy… he was playing with his toy too loud and a Gul just walked over and… bang, with a phaser. Then his mother… she screamed and she cried so he,” Kira makes the motion, “Too.”

“Nerys, I’m so sorry, we can go in,” the fog of inebriation flees Jadzia’s mind as she gathers her arms around Kira.

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m just,” Kira wets her lips, “Those kids down there never had to grow up with that.”

She’s wiping at her eyes and Jadzia tucks her nose against Kira’s ear pressing a prolonged kiss to her cheek. Lela’s thoughts spiced and textured like cracked pepper seeds between her teeth,  _ “Sometimes it’s enough to just sit with someone.” _

They rock like that for awhile before Kira’s body language shifts to get up.

“I think I’m gonna go for a walk,” she says.

“Do you want any company?” Jadzia asks.

Kira shakes her head.

* * *

“Nerys just used the drain pipe to scale down the house, I think she was showing off, but it scared the worm out of me,” Jadzia announces as she walks into the living room.

It’s a cozy space, rustic and lived in, everything worn and loved. She hopes it’s a temporary rental just to be welcoming to travelers and not for nefarious reasons. Worf’s stretched out on the sinking red sofa, his feet up and crossed at the ankles. All of his forehead is screwed up in concentration as tiny figures move across a grid in his pad.

He doesn’t look up, “She is very spry.”

“Are you winning?” she asks, patting his knee to ask for permission.

Worf moves his PADD, opening up space on his lap. Jadzia grunts as she maneuvers herself so she’s bracketing his thighs with her knees.

“T’Kuvma’s going to blow up one of my bases,” he huffs.

“You can play as T’Kuvma?” she tilts her head to look at the game.

“Yes, but he’s more fun to play against.”

“Is it because you disagree with his ideology?”

“It’s because I get a bonus for every Klingon colony I occupy.”

“Who are you playing as?”

“The Ferengi.”

“Is that like hard mode?” she asks.

“I had to beat the game once to unlock it,” he sets the PADD down and embraces her.

“You can keep playing, I like to watch,” she says.

“You like to backseat play, and this game is no fun for spectators,” he says, massaging her lower back.

“We could play something else,” she suggests, but the trajectory of Worf’s hand is making that sound much less tempting. He nuzzles her neck, leaving a nip there, “Or we could do something else with our vacation time.”

And, it’s true they have the place to themselves, though that’s not what the aim of this vacation has been, _but it also is_.

"We should go to one of the rooms," he says as she sheds her shirt.

"I don't mind being walked in on if you don't," she winks.

Worf studies her face, really regards her, and sometime he's so human in how bare he lets his expressions be.

"You desire us both," he says.

"Well, yeah, like, all the time," Dax says.

"That's not what I mean," he says.

Jadzia raises a challenging brow.

They compromise by using the counter, because it provides a more strategic advantage should unwanted parties barge in. And, no, Nerys doesn't walk in on them, but Worf does grunt, _"Major,"_ on one of his thrusts, so she's calling it a win.

* * *

It's raining on the last day because of course it is. Jadzia climbs the stairs to watch the rain make tracks in the sandstone grooves of the roof. The mountains have disappeared behind the clouds, and the atmosphere is turning the world a soft kind of pink that feels like renewal. She ditches her robe to stand in her nightgown and let herself become saturated. She feels better. She feels refreshed, and she feels like she's a part of the scenery. Just another tree trunk out in nature. Part of her wishes for that, part of Dax does, to spend centuries just rooted into the ground and observing a world go through the microscopic shifts of the every day.She is a vessel for what others might consider a god. The closest her people have. The symbionts are holy, and from what Benjamin and her own experiments have told her, just as flawed and useless as the rest of the universe. All the same, what Jadzia sets into motion will be felt by a future Dax. One with a different shaped nose, or a different career, but they will stand in this rain and think, _I was here_. And she will just be another taste on that Trill's tongue.

The double edged sword of existential ennui mixed like a frozen drink with existential delight only takes a few minutes, then she's making wet footprints down the stairs and--

And catching Kira pressing Worf against the kitchen table and keeping him pinned there with her lips. Seeing the way he sighs into the kiss and runs a thumb over the place where her hip has been exposed. She sees the little giggle they share and the nose nuzzle.

"Your face is fuzzy," Kira says quietly.

"Sorry," Worf doesn't sound it as he leans in to kiss her again.

Kira digs a hand into his hair, drawing a loud groan out of him. Jadzia's heart jumps and she _throbs_.

Years of practice has them sensing her gaze and pulling apart, seeing her on the stairs.

Jadzia ignores the questioning looks, instead strutting down to grab a towel for her hair, "I want to plant a tree," she announces.

"Dax..." Kira's voice is cautious.

"The big gravel pits we saw on the way in, those are leftovers from the mine, but is anyone filling it with water or a forest?" she asks.

Confrontation dodged, Kira fiddles with her hands, "Everyone's so busy getting the towns cleaned up, I doubt they're putting much thought into a quarry."

"Great. Let's grab some shovels and something that grows."

Worf rests a hand on Kira's shoulder and she looks between the two of them, "Okay."

* * *

The tire of the wheelbarrow cuts through grey mud, barrow itself full of native shrubs and vegetation. The kind that preserves precious topsoil, a finite resource that gives life something to cling to. Without topsoil there is no green, and without green there is nothing for big bipedal sapiens like them to eat.

"You know, the locals think we're nuts, right?" Kira says over the spatters of rain drumming their hoods.

"That's how I like it!" Jadzia says.

"I spent a summer tree planting in Sebezh as a teenager," Worf says, "It felt good to be out in nature, making visual progress of repairing something broken."

"It's not killing Cardassian soldiers, but enough trees," Jadzia says between the grunts of a digging shovel, "And this scar will turn back into wilderness."

The saplings are just that, sappy to the touch. She winces, but grabs one by the trunk and drops it into the hole and starts digging.

Kira's looking her with those hero worship eyes she usually reserves for Benjamin, but there's a curve of humour to her lips.

"What?"

"It's upside down."

Jadzia huffs a little laugh. She gets a streak of clay-heavy earth onto her forehead as she wipes sweat from there, "Can't do this on the Holodeck."

"We could try," Kira twitches with a joke, "I don't think O'Brien would be too happy with us digging a hole through the station."

Worf huffs, participating in the banter today and looking very endearing in his purple rain slicker and loose braid, "Might I suggest a children's sandbox?"

"Ooo! What's that?"

It takes half a day to use up all of their saplings. The Dahkurdi farmer they got them from is standing there scratching his head, but conversing excitedly with Kira in a pigeon tongue that not even the translator understands. 

"This is what you wanted. How do you feel?" Worf asks Jadzia, wiping grime off her face.

Jadzia tucks her arms behind her back, "Like I was here."

* * *

Sleep comes too easily for sex that night, and the morning after is spent packing and tidying for the shuttle ride back.

"We should do this again soon," Jadzia says, as optimistic as she can be. Because, they should, if they can. War and peace turn on a dime, just like the reality of how close to death they find themselves on a daily basis.

"Absolutely," Worf says.

"Thank you for coming and letting me share with you," Kira says.

"Of course," Worf shrugs it off, pressing a kiss to Kira's forehead and lugging everyone's luggage outside.

"I really like that," Kira says once he's gone.

"Me too, come on," Jadzia says, grabbing Kira's hand.

They pause on the threshold to have one last look.

"This was a good little house," Kira says.

"Yeah, it felt like it could've been home," Jadzia says.

The ride back to Deep Space Nine is a quiet one. That end of the trip exhaustion when everyone is just ready to wash in their own shower and sleep in their own bed. The occupation, Jadzia thinks, was like that but with no end in sight. No bed or shower to call your own. Always the exhaustion of the end of a trip, and the knowledge that tomorrow might be even worse. It has her regarding Kira with new respect and understanding. She's so strong, and so tiny.

Worf shifts against her, running an innocent palm over her thigh that sets her nerves alight. Jadzia exhales softly, minding the innocent passengers she is not going to make witness to her mauling. A second hand brushes past her other knee, much less innocent in its trajectory.

And Jadzia thinks, _oh no._

And Jadzia thinks, _oh yes_.

* * *

Debriefings with Benjamin go quick. Her spine is pulled tight as if she's being stretched on a string between the fickle up and down of space.

"Some minor incidents in your absence, but nothing we couldn't handle. It was good experience for our auxiliary crew. Lieutenant Daniels performed admirably. Old Man, I can see you being a good mentor figure to her."

Jadzia smiles and nods.

Benjamin pauses in front of the three of them, "Is something wrong?"

"No Sir, we are just encumbered by the lag from our travels. Perhaps a mission debriefing tomorrow would be more suited," Worf slips into professionalism with more comfort than any other role he plays.

"Yes, yes, of course, you don't need me barraging you with details the minute you get off the shuttle. I'll catch up with you tomorrow. Dinner at my place, bring your appetites," he nods to Worf, pats Kira's shoulder, and hugs Dax.

Curzon always takes control before Jadzia can react, his grip on Benjamin tightens and with a sharp voice he says, "No calls unless it's an emergency."

Then she's dusting Benjamin's shoulders off and giving his back a friendly warning slap. He closes his eyes slowly and doesn't ask follow up questions. Nor does he remark on his senior staff all departing hastily together in the same direction despite all having separate quarters.

Her quarters are exactly as she left them and Jadzia has about seven seconds to drop her bags before she's thrown over Worf's shoulder, Kira dangling from the other and giggling.

"Bed?" he asks.

"That way," Jadzia supplies unhelpfully.

This is the fun part. Getting them to this point has been the hard part (though, not that hard, she pushed them like fifteen percent and they sprinted the rest of the way) and now it’s just sex. Dax has had sex with many-a-species, many-a-person, many-a-position, and no matter how unique or special, it’s still just sex. That little miracle of existence, and that little hobby of hers.

Worf’s a reverent type, inclined towards exploration. Kira’s prone to quickies the first time. Part of the old paranoia. Part of her defense mechanisms. She can’t stay open for too long around first lovers. Sex is easy, intimacy is hard. 

The quiet is tense, both from nerves, and anticipation as they shuck off layers of clothing.

Jadzia watches this, in the way Kira shades her eyes, avoiding contact and stares at Worf’s bare chest instead.

“He’s sensitive on these ridges,” Jadzia supplies, grabbing Kira’s wrist and leading her hand the bands the hard tissue lining Worf’s shoulders.

He chokes out a breath and Jadia smiles, kissing his cheek, expecting the reaction to be from touching the ridges, but she looks down and sees Kira is cupping Worf through his pants.

_ “Kahless,”  _ he hisses.

Okay, maybe they don’t need help with the mechanics. Jadia frees Worf’s hair from its ponytail and runs her fingers through it. He tips his head back to rest on her shoulder. His hair is deceptively soft against her bare skin. Then there's the soft-rough leather feeling of Kira's tail wrapping around her calf. They're pinning her, one on each side, and every sensation elevated by proximity.

She’s so excited for what’s happening, she feel like skipping ahead to the good part, but this is the good part. The good part is helping Kira out of her tunic and ridding Worf of his pants and then being startled when they turn on her.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Kira says.

She’s gloriously naked and not playing fair because Jadzia loses all cognizant thought at the sight of her breasts.

(Dax also short circuits, a weakness for the female figure being a through line in seven hosts.)

“This is what you wanted?” Worf kisses her cheek.

Jadzia laughs breathlessly and nods.

“I didn’t think I’d be the center of attention,” she says.

Kira snorts, “But Dax, you love being the center of attention.”

“Yes, but I’ve also been working hard to get you two to have sex.”

“Jadzia, what do you think we’re doing?” Worf asks.

He looks to Kira with all seriousness, Kira shrugs, over-casual.

“With each other, I mean,” she says, feeling rather silly, but also loved by their embrace.

“Oh, I still have every intention of riding the Lieutenant Commander,” Kira says, biting her lip.

Worf’s brows go up and he smiles crookedly, “If that’s the case then I am humbly of service.”

Kira nods a few times before bursting out laughing. Jadzia can’t help but join her. Worf’s smile falters.

“I’m sorry, it’s just the way you said it!”

They kiss him to soothe any hurt feelings. The kisses deepen. Jadzia watches Kira nip hard enough at Worf’s lower lip to draw blood. He growls, kissing her harder, licking his way into her mouth. Jadzia occupies herself with latching onto Kira’s breasts. There's no plan, no grand design, just desire, of hands and mouths reaching and grabbing and kissing a sucking.  Even between all of it, Jadzia finds herself on her back and being prepared. A spray of protection onto her length from the bottle she keeps in the nightstand. Kira hands the bottle to Worf for him to spray himself, then lowers herself onto Jadzia. There's no stretch or strain, both very used to it, but that doesn't stop the hard bite Kira delivers to her collar just as Worf enters. Air is hard to inhale through the choke of pleasure she makes.

Having both at the same time makes her eyes roll back into her head. She exhales, and reaches up for them with both hands. One hand laces with Kira’s, the other with Worf’s. She forces her eyes to stay open, so she can see Kira rest her head on Worf’s shoulder, or that he kisses her ear. 

"I have no intention of going easy on either of you," Kira says.

"Please don't," Worf says.

It's easily the best sex Jadzia has ever had. Not just because of the emotional tether, though that's a big part of it, it's in the sweet violence, and the harsh stimuli. Yes, there's soothing kisses and caresses, but also Kira's tail wrapped around her throat while Worf lays into her hard enough to make the wall protest.

And, when it's all over, she feels the satisfaction of every voice in her head.

* * *

Kira startles awake, unsure of the time or the place for the first time in… well, since before the occupation. She frowns, glancing at her surroundings and firing her brain into overdrive. The body she’s been laying on shifts and confusion hits her again, because she can see Jadzia on the other side of the bed, stretched languidly on her belly, dark hair a slick shadow in the moonlight. Her cushion smells different, feels different, fuzzier. When she glances up, she sees a hooked face and soft lips parted in the words of a dream.

_ What do Klingons dream of?  _ She once asked him.

Now she watches his expression turn, from troubled to peaceful, his hand reaches out, cupping her hip and tucking her closer.

He mumbles something in Klingon, which always sounds like a storm to her ear, but she supposes she’ll have to learn it. 

With tail and hand, she reaches out to Jadzia, nudging her closer to the warm heap she and Worf have made in the blankets. 

“ _ Go back to sleep, Nerys, _ ” Jadzia mumbles in perfect Dahkurdit.

* * *

Order is good. Order is straight lines of functionality marching forward. He likes order because it works. He knows which boxes to fill. Which lines to cue in, and what regulations to follow. And, when that is done then deliveries are made on time. Deliverables are met, and the right resources are distributed. Order is how disasters are averted, so they are the shape he chooses to rebuild himself in. He is Worf. He is steady, sturdy, and reliable. He is a straight line. Or, he was, but he's just been unwound like a spool of wire. He awakens to a new appreciation for Bajoran body heat, with Kira having wrapped herself around both him and Jadzia. Her hair is sleep mussed and her eyes are closed. Soft, vulnerable, the slumbering warrior goddess whose feet he lays his sword at. The arms slung around his waist make him feel owned. Pleasantly so. Orderly so. Little ticks in the 'mate' boxes of his life. He lets them lie in, unable to sleep longer and in need of coffee.

By the time Kira comes stumbling out into the living area, wrapped up in one of Jadzia's silk throws, and in search of a wake up, he hands her a cup and accepts the sleepy nuzzle. Jadzia isn't long to follow, wearing a traditional Trill robe and sniffing the air.

“Good morning. I thought we could go over Starfleet's policy for romantic relationships. We have some addendums to file," he says. 

“You don’t think it’s a little early to be telling all of Starfleet that we’re sleeping together?” Nerys adds another sugar to her drink.

In the movement to grab more, she’s jostled the silk that’s been keeping her covered and exposed a great deal of her inner thighs.

“I hate to break it to you both, but I’m fairly certain all of Starfleet has been under the impression that we’ve all been sleeping together for awhile,” Jadzia says, not a tiny bit apologetic. She’s admiring the massive bruises on her shoulder and neck in the mirrored surface of the wall. To hide the wideness of her grin, she steals a sip of Kira’s coffee.

“Nerys, the gap in your robe is exciting the Lieutenant Commander,” she says, nodding to Worf’s growing interest.

Kira looks down at the exposure, “Is it?” her face is innocent, but her voice is smug. She shifts her weight, propping a foot up on Worf’s knee, “And what do you expect me to do about that?”

Worf groans, deep inside his chest, fist hitting the table in his haste to lower his drink.

“I can think of a few things,” Jadzia says, lowering her own hand between Kira’s legs.

* * *

"There she is, the cat that ate the canary," Julian commends her.

He's sitting at their usual secret spot, a little metal catwalk overlooking the promenade, with his legs dangling in the spaces between guard rails. Jadzia swaggers over and  holds up the victory bottle she bought from Quark and carried by the stem. She has to set it down, passing to Julian as she sits down herself.

"Ate more than just the canary," she says, grin wolfish.

"Congratulations. How was it?"

She doesn't know why exaggerated baseball referee gestures are the first thing that come to mind, but here she is, making signs for 'safe' and 'home run'.

"I don't understand any of that," Julian says.

"It was, educational," she pops the bottle.

Julian huffs a laugh, watching the bustling market below, "I see you succeeded in getting Kira to yell at him. She was tearing Mr. Worf a new one over some medical acquisitions in my office this morning. They left rather quickly after that. I assume for strictly professional reasons."

He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, checking with her to confirm his suspicions.

Jadzia smirks, "Oh, absolutely."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Feedback is always appreciated.


End file.
